Wei Lian stood at the edge of the reflecting pool as the moonlight shimmered across the still surface. Behind him, the sect was alive with whispers. The duel from earlier had shaken the outer sect to its core, but Wei Lian knew such tremors faded quickly unless fed.
He intended to feed them.
Lin Yu approached quietly from the path, his steps measured, his gaze wary.
"They're still talking about Xu Rong," the boy whispered, bowing slightly. "Some are calling you a hidden genius. Others think you're a demon."
Wei Lian's reflection stared back at him, unblinking.
"Let them wonder," he said. "But that isn't enough."
Lin Yu tilted his head. "What's next?"
Wei Lian turned, eyes like coals under the silver light. "Next, we set the fire."
He handed Lin Yu two sealed scrolls. One bore the crest of the Tiger Fang Faction, the other that of the Stone Vow Sect—two powerful groups within the outer sect with a long-standing rivalry. Neither knew the other was planning retaliation for Xu Rong. Neither knew they weren't.
But they would.
By morning, both scrolls had found their way to the right hands.
The leader of the Tiger Fang faction, a hot-tempered Foundation cultivator named Meng Qiu, read the forged missive with a dark expression. The handwriting was too smooth to be fake, the seal too perfect.
You overstepped. Xu Rong was ours. Stay in your hole, or we'll bleed you dry next.
No signature. Just a threat.
The Stone Vow Sect received the opposite—a scroll suggesting that the Tiger Fangs blamed them for manipulating Xu Rong's death, and would be seeking blood soon.
By mid-afternoon, the courtyard was a powder keg.
Disciples avoided the open training grounds. Small confrontations began at the edges of halls and stairwells. Dirty looks turned into sharp words. Sharp words into threats. Someone's cultivation robe was burned in a hallway. Another disciple found his bedroll slashed and soaked in pig's blood.
Wei Lian watched it all from the library terrace, sipping quietly from a bowl of warm tea.
Beneath him, two groups of disciples passed each other in the courtyard, tension sizzling in the air. One shoulder-bumped another.
A fight almost broke out. Almost.
He smiled.
Not yet.
Three nights later, he made his move.
The outer sect's alchemical shed was quiet and unguarded during second watch. Wei Lian slipped inside, masked and silent, and stole a pouch of Smoke Needle Lotus dust—a rare irritant that could cause involuntary spasms when inhaled. Painful. Harmless. Perfect.
He crushed it into a thin powder, and with Lin Yu's help, slipped it into the incense burners outside the Stone Vow training yard.
The next morning, a dozen disciples began choking and convulsing mid-practice. Their instructors assumed it was poison.
Their leader, a thick-browed man named Gu Shen, immediately suspected sabotage. And since the only disciples who hadn't shown up that morning were from the Tiger Fang faction…
It began.
Gu Shen marched to the southern yard with twenty disciples and stormed the Tiger Fang gathering house.
Wei Lian stood beneath a peach tree, arms folded, as the screaming began.
He didn't need to see it. The crash of shattered tables, the roar of cultivation techniques flaring to life, and the scent of charred wood were enough.
Lin Yu appeared beside him, eyes wide.
"They're fighting. Two are already crippled. Elders are being summoned."
Wei Lian said nothing.
Behind them, the outer sect thundered with chaos.
Two disciples smashed through the walls of a nearby hall in a cloud of smoke and fists. Another was pinned to the ground, bleeding from the mouth.
"What now?" Lin Yu asked.
Wei Lian finally turned to him.
"Now… we blame someone else."
Later that day, Wei Lian visited the outer sect's records hall, a quiet building filled with old ledgers, scrolls, and stacks of cultivation permits.
He placed a third forged scroll inside an old ledger tucked beneath the Tiger Fang faction's meeting documents. This one contained a "confession" of sorts—a fabricated plot written by a fictional disciple claiming he had manipulated both groups as part of a scheme funded by a third faction: Shadow River Pavilion, a dissolved branch group that had once opposed Elder Mu's rise.
The scroll didn't name Wei Lian. It didn't need to.
It only needed to redirect the suspicion… and keep the fire burning.
By nightfall, the outer sect was boiling.
Rumors now whispered that someone was working from the shadows. That the Tiger Fang and Stone Vow feud had been orchestrated by an old enemy of Elder Mu. That it was the beginning of a new sect war.
Elder Yao had been seen speaking with the Disciplinary Hall.
Three disciples had been dragged away. Two were missing.
Wei Lian sat by the river, feet in the cold water, watching the moon.
He felt no joy.
No satisfaction.
Only the silence after motion—the moment a thrown blade spins before it lands.
This was the midpoint.
The true chaos was still to come.
The next morning, inner sect disciples were stationed at the yard entrances.
Training was canceled. No one was allowed to spar without permission.
Wei Lian passed through the crowd unnoticed. To the outer sect, he was still just a cold-faced anomaly—a talented fighter who had crushed Xu Rong, but nothing more.
To Lin Yu, he was something else entirely.
"You made them fight. With words."
Wei Lian didn't respond.
"You didn't even lift a hand."
Wei Lian glanced over. His voice was quiet.
"If you wish to kill a beast, let it bleed itself first."
He handed Lin Yu a new scroll.
This one listed the names of three injured disciples—one from each faction, all unconscious.
And beside each, a symbol drawn in black ink: the sigil of the Crimson Ink Hall, another faction loosely aligned with Elder Mu.
"Plant the idea," he said. "Let them think a third party is exploiting them both."
Lin Yu swallowed, then nodded.
That evening, Elder Mu emerged from seclusion.
It was rare. Alarming.
He walked through the outer sect courtyard with slow steps, flanked by two peak Foundation elders. His face was unreadable, eyes sunken, fingers clasped behind his back.
Disciples cleared a path.
Some bowed.
Wei Lian stood to the side, watching through the shade of a tree.
Elder Mu's gaze swept across the injured, the charred buildings, the broken walls.
He said nothing.
But Wei Lian saw it.
The tension in his shoulders.
The worry in his steps.
He was no longer in control.
Not fully.
And Wei Lian had only just begun.
Wei Lian stood at the edge of the reflecting pool as the moonlight shimmered across the still surface. Behind him, the sect was alive with whispers. The duel from earlier had shaken the outer sect to its core, but Wei Lian knew such tremors faded quickly unless fed.
He intended to feed them.
Lin Yu approached quietly from the path, his steps measured, his gaze wary.
"They're still talking about Xu Rong," the boy whispered, bowing slightly. "Some are calling you a hidden genius. Others think you're a demon."
Wei Lian's reflection stared back at him, unblinking.
"Let them wonder," he said. "But that isn't enough."
Lin Yu tilted his head. "What's next?"
Wei Lian turned, eyes like coals under the silver light. "Next, we set the fire."
He handed Lin Yu two sealed scrolls. One bore the crest of the Tiger Fang Faction, the other that of the Stone Vow Sect—two powerful groups within the outer sect with a long-standing rivalry. Neither knew the other was planning retaliation for Xu Rong. Neither knew they weren't.
But they would.
By morning, both scrolls had found their way to the right hands.
The leader of the Tiger Fang faction, a hot-tempered Foundation cultivator named Meng Qiu, read the forged missive with a dark expression. The handwriting was too smooth to be fake, the seal too perfect.
You overstepped. Xu Rong was ours. Stay in your hole, or we'll bleed you dry next.
No signature. Just a threat.
The Stone Vow Sect received the opposite—a scroll suggesting that the Tiger Fangs blamed them for manipulating Xu Rong's death, and would be seeking blood soon.
By mid-afternoon, the courtyard was a powder keg.
Disciples avoided the open training grounds. Small confrontations began at the edges of halls and stairwells. Dirty looks turned into sharp words. Sharp words into threats. Someone's cultivation robe was burned in a hallway. Another disciple found his bedroll slashed and soaked in pig's blood.
Wei Lian watched it all from the library terrace, sipping quietly from a bowl of warm tea.
Beneath him, two groups of disciples passed each other in the courtyard, tension sizzling in the air. One shoulder-bumped another.
A fight almost broke out. Almost.
He smiled.
Not yet.
Three nights later, he made his move.
The outer sect's alchemical shed was quiet and unguarded during second watch. Wei Lian slipped inside, masked and silent, and stole a pouch of Smoke Needle Lotus dust—a rare irritant that could cause involuntary spasms when inhaled. Painful. Harmless. Perfect.
He crushed it into a thin powder, and with Lin Yu's help, slipped it into the incense burners outside the Stone Vow training yard.
The next morning, a dozen disciples began choking and convulsing mid-practice. Their instructors assumed it was poison.
Their leader, a thick-browed man named Gu Shen, immediately suspected sabotage. And since the only disciples who hadn't shown up that morning were from the Tiger Fang faction…
It began.
Gu Shen marched to the southern yard with twenty disciples and stormed the Tiger Fang gathering house.
Wei Lian stood beneath a peach tree, arms folded, as the screaming began.
He didn't need to see it. The crash of shattered tables, the roar of cultivation techniques flaring to life, and the scent of charred wood were enough.
Lin Yu appeared beside him, eyes wide.
"They're fighting. Two are already crippled. Elders are being summoned."
Wei Lian said nothing.
Behind them, the outer sect thundered with chaos.
Two disciples smashed through the walls of a nearby hall in a cloud of smoke and fists. Another was pinned to the ground, bleeding from the mouth.
"What now?" Lin Yu asked.
Wei Lian finally turned to him.
"Now… we blame someone else."
Later that day, Wei Lian visited the outer sect's records hall, a quiet building filled with old ledgers, scrolls, and stacks of cultivation permits.
He placed a third forged scroll inside an old ledger tucked beneath the Tiger Fang faction's meeting documents. This one contained a "confession" of sorts—a fabricated plot written by a fictional disciple claiming he had manipulated both groups as part of a scheme funded by a third faction: Shadow River Pavilion, a dissolved branch group that had once opposed Elder Mu's rise.
The scroll didn't name Wei Lian. It didn't need to.
It only needed to redirect the suspicion… and keep the fire burning.
By nightfall, the outer sect was boiling.
Rumors now whispered that someone was working from the shadows. That the Tiger Fang and Stone Vow feud had been orchestrated by an old enemy of Elder Mu. That it was the beginning of a new sect war.
Elder Yao had been seen speaking with the Disciplinary Hall.
Three disciples had been dragged away. Two were missing.
Wei Lian sat by the river, feet in the cold water, watching the moon.
He felt no joy.
No satisfaction.
Only the silence after motion—the moment a thrown blade spins before it lands.
This was the midpoint.
The true chaos was still to come.
The next morning, inner sect disciples were stationed at the yard entrances.
Training was canceled. No one was allowed to spar without permission.
Wei Lian passed through the crowd unnoticed. To the outer sect, he was still just a cold-faced anomaly—a talented fighter who had crushed Xu Rong, but nothing more.
To Lin Yu, he was something else entirely.
"You made them fight. With words."
Wei Lian didn't respond.
"You didn't even lift a hand."
Wei Lian glanced over. His voice was quiet.
"If you wish to kill a beast, let it bleed itself first."
He handed Lin Yu a new scroll.
This one listed the names of three injured disciples—one from each faction, all unconscious.
And beside each, a symbol drawn in black ink: the sigil of the Crimson Ink Hall, another faction loosely aligned with Elder Mu.
"Plant the idea," he said. "Let them think a third party is exploiting them both."
Lin Yu swallowed, then nodded.
That evening, Elder Mu emerged from seclusion.
It was rare. Alarming.
He walked through the outer sect courtyard with slow steps, flanked by two peak Foundation elders. His face was unreadable, eyes sunken, fingers clasped behind his back.
Disciples cleared a path.
Some bowed.
Wei Lian stood to the side, watching through the shade of a tree.
Elder Mu's gaze swept across the injured, the charred buildings, the broken walls.
He said nothing.
But Wei Lian saw it.
The tension in his shoulders.
The worry in his steps.
He was no longer in control.
Not fully.
And Wei Lian had only just begun.